Explore "Were I a Skilful Painter" by George MacDonald on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Were I a skilful painter, / My pencil, not my pen, / Should try to teach thee hope and fear, / And who would blame me then? -- / Fear of the tide of darkness / That floweth fast behind, / And hope to make thee journey on / In the journey of the mind.
Were I a skilful painter, / What should I paint for thee? -- / A tiny spring-bud peeping out / From a withered wintry tree; / The warm blue sky of summer / O'er jagged ice and snow, / And water hurrying gladsome out / From a cavern down below;